


Copper Patches

by SCFrankles



Series: The Tea Set [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (but then she always is), Alternate Universe, Gen, Humor, Story: The Adventure of the Copper Beeches, and Lestrade is a kettle, and Mouselet is a mouse, in which Sherlock and John are teapots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based very loosely on <i>The Copper Beeches</i> (only with mice. And teapots), this is a crossover between my <i>Sherlock</i> Tea Set stories and Small_Hobbit’s <i>ACD Sherlock Holmes</i> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/57591">Mouselet stories</a>. It had to happen.<br/> </p><p>Mouselet has been accidentally left behind in a move, and is now living unofficially in the kitchen of 221 Baker Street with a kettle called Lestrade, a teapot called John and a former teapot, now vase, called Sherlock. </p><p>Mrs Hudson’s great-nephew Stanley Hopkins (aged 6) comes to stay for the weekend. His new mouse greatly resembles our heroine…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Copper Patches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/gifts).



> This series of stories was inspired by [this photograph set](https://scfrankles.tumblr.com/post/44064843061/consultingcupcake-consulting-teapots-once-i) on Tumblr.
> 
> This story in particular was inspired by Small_Hobbit’s original character Mouselet.
> 
> Holmes and Watson were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John are the property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC; The Consulting Teapots and their cosies belong to Consulting Cup Cake; Mouselet belongs to [Small_Hobbit.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit)
> 
> * * *

Lestrade was a kettle. Though at the moment he didn’t contain any water.

John was a small Watson teapot. Though at the moment he didn’t contain any tea.

Sherlock was technically a Holmes teapot. But after getting into a lot of hot water he was no longer capable of holding it, so Mrs Hudson used him as a vase. 

At the moment though he didn’t contain any flowers. He did however contain a mouse.

“OK in there, Mouselet?” called John.

“I’m fine!” she called back. 

Mouselet did feel a fool. She’d been examining Mrs Hudson’s biscuits in the cupboard directly above Sherlock and lost her pawing. But John and Lestrade were arranging the rescue with great efficiency.

“Do hurry up, will you.” That was Sherlock’s voice.

“Shut up, Sherlock. Soon have you out of there, Mouselet!” That was Lestrade’s voice. 

Mouselet looked up and saw one end of the oven gloves being lowered slowly down. 

“Nearly there,” she called. Her end of the gloves touched Sherlock’s base. “That’s perfect!”

She pulled herself up on the material using her claws and tumbled into the pouch. “Ready when you are!”

On the outside, the salad tongs had finished getting the gloves in place, and now on John’s instructions were placing the cruet set into the other pouch to act as a counterweight. In went the mustard pot and the salt cellar. Then they picked up the pepper pot and dropped that in too. Sherlock had done all the calculations. Though it was perhaps unfortunate that he hadn’t deduced the pepper pot had been refilled.

The external pouch shot downwards, and Mouselet’s pouch _flew_ upwards. The cruets and gloves landed on the counter with a muffled thud, and a small rodent was catapulted through the air, landing heavily on top of John’s lid.

There was a horrified pause. 

“Oh, crikey!” said John. “Are you all right?”

“Still in one piece!” said Mouselet, trying to catch her breath. 

It’d been three and a half weeks now, since her owners had accidentally left her behind in the move and she’d found sanctuary at Baker Street. And being thrown out of a former teapot still wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to her at number 221. John and Sherlock seemed to attract trouble.

Mouselet gingerly lowered herself down into the curve of John’s handle, and from there dropped herself down onto the counter.

She was just in time. Mrs Hudson was home and coming into the kitchen, and she didn’t know about her new tenant. Mouselet scurried behind John, and then peeped out to see what was going on.

“Do you want some pop?” asked Mrs Hudson, looking backwards. 

Mouselet wondered who she was talking to. It did seem an unlikely substance for Mungo the bulldog to drink. But then a little boy followed Mrs Hudson into the room. Probably about six (in human years). He had dark hair and grey eyes and a bright red jumper, and was carefully carrying a metal cage in his arms. Mouselet twitched her nose. She could smell the other mouse immediately. 

The little boy placed the cage carefully down on the table. “Could I have lemonade, please?”

“Of course you can!” Mrs Hudson gave him a hug and the little boy gave her a huge smile. Mouselet thought he was lovely.

“Who’s that?” she whispered. 

“That’s Mrs Hudson’s great-nephew Stanley Hopkins,” said John. “He comes and stays at the weekend sometimes.” John looked at the cage. “Haven’t seen the mouse before though. Must be new.”

Sherlock was concentrating on the inhabitant of the cage. “That other mouse looks a great deal like Mouselet.”

“Really?” said Mouselet.

Her fur was chestnut with copper highlights and was considered an unusual shade—it had been highly admired by her former owners. Though to be honest, her coat was looking a bit flat and dull at the moment. It was a side effect of the stress of living in the same kitchen as Sherlock. 

But the consulting detective was right. Mouselet stared down into the cage. The other mouse did have the same colour fur, and it seemed to be in the same lacklustre condition too. In fact, the mouse was altogether lethargic. Surely the little boy couldn’t be mistreating her? But no—the cage had fresh, shredded newspaper and there was plenty of food. And while Mrs Hudson was pouring the lemonade Stanley was making sure the water bottle was in the correct position and was talking softly to the little mouse. He opened the cage and Mouselet saw that he knew how to pick up a mouse correctly—firmly by the base of the tail. He brought her out and held her in the palm of his hand and gently stroked her. But the new mouse still seemed unhappy. Mouselet wondered what the matter could be. If she had an owner like Stanley she thought she would always feel cheerful.

Stanley put the mouse back in her cage and washed his hands. Then he sat down with his glass of lemonade while Mrs Hudson made him a ham sandwich. She cut it carefully into four triangles and brought it over to the table for him.

“Thanks!” said Stanley, and Mrs Hudson smiled at him.

“Oh!” she said. “I nearly forgot.” She went out into the hall but was soon back with a mobile. “I got a new mobile phone—the same one as your Mummy’s.”

She held it up. “Can I take a picture of you?”

Stanley immediately went into a well-practised pose: smiling broadly, his sandwich poised in mid-air.

Mrs Hudson fiddled with the phone. “The lady in the shop made it look so easy…”

“Can I help, Auntie?” 

Stanley put down his sandwich and got up from the table. Mrs Hudson looked down at the infant. She sighed and handed him the phone.

“Look,” said Stanley. He took the phone over to the cage and showed Mrs Hudson how to frame the mouse. “Then you just touch this symbol!”

“Isn’t that marvellous!” said Mrs Hudson, admiring the captured image.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” said Stanley. 

“She is.” Mrs Hudson smiled at the little boy. “Now you eat up your sandwich and then you can come and show me how to use the computer.”

Stanley giggled, and Mrs Hudson switched off the phone and put it away in a drawer.

Mouselet watched as Stanley finished his sandwich, and wondered about having someone of her own who would think she was pretty.

 

 

When Mrs Hudson and Stanley went off to use the computer, the cage was left behind in the kitchen. Mouselet twitched her nose at the other mouse but she didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood. So Mouselet gave up and carried on with her endless search for enough food.

 

 

It had been another… _interesting_ morning for Mouselet. She had heard Mrs Hudson and Stanley going out very first thing to take Mungo for a walk, so she had risked running about the kitchen looking for more food. And while her attention was elsewhere, she’d put her foot in a drop of sunflower oil and skidded. 

Down the whole length of the counter she’d slid, bouncing off Lestrade and ending up going headfirst into an open drawer, where she’d avoided the steak knives, done a flip over the forks and come to rest between the soup and dessert spoons. 

Apparently the oil was part of an ongoing investigation by Lestrade, Sherlock and John, who were trying to find out where the leak was coming from, as there was mysteriously no hole in Mrs Hudson’s current bottle of cooking oil. Sherlock had been quite terse about Mouselet’s “interfering with the evidence”. 

She’d clambered out of the drawer and was having a restorative lie down behind the bread bin, when Mrs Hudson and Stanley came in for their breakfast—Mrs Hudson holding a small bunch of violets she’d bought while she was out. Mouselet got up and kept a cautious eye on what was going on.

Stanley immediately went over to his mouse to check she was all right and to fill up her bowl with fresh mouse food. Mrs Hudson went over to Sherlock on the counter. She filled him with water, arranged the flowers and took him over to the table. Then she opened John and Sherlock’s cupboard, 221B, and lifted John down. She popped in a teabag, and put Lestrade on to boil.

While she was waiting for the kettle Mrs Hudson sorted Stanley out some orange squash, and poured cereal for the both of them. A few cornflakes ended up on the counter and Mouselet looked longingly at them. She decided that as soon as Mrs Hudson and Stanley were out of the room, she would dash and gobble them up. It was torment seeing the food so close and not being able to eat it immediately. She glanced at the mouse in the cage, who was tucking into her meal, while Stanley watched. Mouselet sighed.

When Mrs Hudson and Stanley had finished their breakfast, Mrs Hudson collected the dirty crockery together and left it all on the draining board, and put Sherlock and John on the counter next to the mouse cage. 

“Now we’ll just go and brush our teeth,” said Mrs Hudson.

“Do I _have_ to?” said Stanley. “I am on holiday.”

Mouselet laughed quietly, despite her hunger. 

“Yes, you do,” said Mrs Hudson. “But then you can watch your DVD while I do the washing up.” 

That got a grin, and the two of them left the kitchen together.

Mouselet rushed out of her hiding place, ran over to the spilled corn flakes and gulped them down. It was only when her stomach was full that she realised she’d just rather impolitely galloped past Sherlock, John and the new mouse. 

Mouselet was a well-brought up little creature, so she trundled back to the mouse cage to say hello properly. 

“Good morning! I’m Mouselet.”

The mouse in the cage looked up briefly. “I’m Alice,” she said, and then seemed to lose interest entirely.

Behind them Sherlock was complaining about his violets. Mouselet turned round.

“Violets are boring. I prefer narcissi,” said Sherlock.

“Of course you do,” said John. 

Sherlock gave him a severe look but now John was ignoring him in favour of talking to the mouse visitor. Mouselet turned her attention back to the cage.

“How do you do,” he said. “I’m John.”

“Hello,” said Alice, not even looking up this time.

Mouselet hesitated. “Are you all right? Is your owner taking care of you properly?”

She couldn’t believe that such a nice little boy would mistreat his pets, but Alice seemed so downcast.

Sherlock’s voice broke in. “Born at a breeder’s, sold to a pet shop, you’ve been Stanley Hopkins’ mouse for a month, maybe two. As well as this travelling cage you have a splendid large aquarium as a home—with lots of levels and toys—and Stanley occasionally lets you run about his bedroom. You’re quite fond of him. However, you’re bored and a little lonely and wish to explore and travel. Am I right?”

Alice was staring at Sherlock. “That is… _amazing_. How on earth did you know?”

“Well…” said Sherlock.

But Mouselet got in first. “Like me, your fur colour is unusual, so it’s likely you were specially bred. But also like me, you’re small and so probably ended up being sold off to a pet shop. And nobody buys an expensive mouse for a six year old. Sherlock presumably remembers the last time Stanley visited, and as John mentioned, he didn’t bring a mouse with him then. Stanley is an attentive owner and you are apparently in good general physical health, hence an attractive living environment being probable and you being fond of him.”

“What about Stanley letting Alice run round his bedroom?” asked John. Mouselet suspected he was trying not to laugh.

“Because that’s the sort of ridiculous thing young animals tend to do,” snapped Sherlock.

Mouselet cringed. “Sorry. It’s just I’ve been watching you work a lot over the last few weeks. It’s rather rubbed off.”

“Well, it’s true,” said Alice. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain, but I wish I had more freedom.” She gazed at Mouselet. “I wish I could be like you.”

Mouselet widened her eyes. How could anyone wish to be without a proper home? Having to constantly worry about food. Not having your own nest. Not having someone to stroke you.

“I’m so jealous of all the fun you have in the kitchen,” Alice said. 

Now Mouselet was utterly bewildered. She couldn’t remember _any_ fun she’d had in the kitchen.

“You know, when you slid along the counter.”

“You thought that was _fun…”_

“Yes!” said Alice, twitching her nose enthusiastically. “It looked fantastic. I’d love to give that a go.” 

She smiled at the teapots. “I’d love to help Sherlock and John in their investigations too.”

John was smiling back but Sherlock was looking at Alice doubtfully.

“Rather you than me…” muttered Mouselet.

At this point Mrs Hudson came back into the kitchen and Mouselet ducked for cover behind John. 

_“One cup left,”_ whispered John.

“What?” said Mouselet. 

But it quickly became apparent what John meant. Mrs Hudson picked up her mug from the draining board, put it on the counter near the mouse cage and then came over to collect John. She was obviously going to have a last cup of tea before doing the washing up.

As John rose into the air, Mouselet scurried behind Sherlock instead. Mrs Hudson poured out the tea and put John down on the far side of the mouse cage. But then she reached over for Sherlock to move him over too. Mouselet supressed her squeak and dived behind the only available cover, which was a dish cloth. It wasn’t much—as soon as Mrs Hudson looked closely in Mouselet’s direction, she would undoubtedly spot her. Mouselet felt her heart beating double time.

But for the moment Mrs Hudson’s attention was fully on her mug of tea. She’d added the milk and stirred it, and was now sipping the tea appreciatively. 

Mouselet thought she would risk it. Keeping her head low, she broke cover and scampered along the counter, away from Mrs Hudson and towards Lestrade. Unfortunately, Mrs Hudson chose that exact moment to turn round. Mouselet _flung_ herself behind the kettle, just in time to hear Mrs Hudson cry out. 

Mouselet huddled behind Lestrade shivering, waiting for Mrs Hudson to come and get her.

“It’s OK,” said Lestrade. “I think the movement startled her, but I don’t think she saw _you.”_

Mouselet peeped out. Mrs Hudson was now fussing around Alice’s cage. There was a brown stain covering a lot of the bedding and Mrs Hudson had the cage door open. She was trying to scoop the mouse out.

“Mrs Hudson spilt some of her tea,” said Lestrade. “None of it hit the little mouse though.”

Mouselet watched as Mrs Hudson groped about in the cage. She had apparently completely forgotten about the movement that had given her the fright. Alice wasn’t making it easy for her, but Mrs Hudson finally remembered she had to pick the mouse up by the base of the tail and got her out. She held her in her cupped hands and cast about for a temporary home.

“Ah!” said Mrs Hudson. 

She transferred Alice to one hand and grabbed the still dry washing-up bowl. She put it on the counter and placed the little mouse inside. Mouselet’s heart sank a little. She thought she could guess what was going to happen next. And indeed Alice was soon out and away while Mrs Hudson was sorting out fresh newspaper. She moved so quickly, Mouselet couldn’t follow where she’d gone.

Mrs Hudson smiled in satisfaction at her repair work and came back over to the bowl. 

“Oh, no…”

She started searching about frantically.

“Auntie!” called Stanley from the living room. 

“Hold on, dear!” 

Mrs Hudson yanked open cupboards and drawers in hopeless optimism. “Where are you..? Stanley will be so upset…”

She opened the “bits and bobs” drawer and paused. Surely Alice couldn’t have got into there, thought Mouselet. But it was the new phone Mrs Hudson was bringing out. She stared at it and a guilty look flitted across her face.

“Just in case…” she murmured. She entered a number and was soon connected.

“Hello, Mrs Turner,” said Mrs Hudson. “I wonder if you could come round. Yes, straight away. It’s an emergency.”

 

 

Mrs Hudson and her next door neighbour were huddled together in the kitchen.

Mrs Turner kept glancing at the door. “So, where’s Stanley?”

“Upstairs washing his hands and face,” said Mrs Hudson. “I’ve managed to keep him away from the cage so far. I’m going to take him out for the day—keep him occupied.”

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to tell him…” 

“He’s only six,” said Mrs Hudson. “And this is just in case his mouse doesn’t come back again. I’ve left the door open and there’s plenty of food. She’ll soon get hungry and bored.”

“Well, I suppose it’s all right,” said Mrs Turner. 

Mrs Hudson thrust her phone into Mrs Turner’s hand. “There’s Alice’s photograph to show to the pet shops to find the replacement.”

“You can just email it to me…”

“No time!” said Mrs Hudson, and practically shoved Mrs Turner out of the kitchen still clutching the mobile. Mouselet heard the front door open and shut, and then heard Stanley coming down the stairs.

“I’m ready!” he called. “I’ll just say goodbye to Alice…”

“No, the bus won’t wait!” The child was hustled out of the house by Mrs Hudson, and the place became silent.

There was a pause, and Alice poked her face out of her hiding place behind the soap dish.  
Mouselet relaxed. It had been sort of her fault the other mouse had been taken out of her cage.

“Your bedding is all lovely and clean again,” she called out to Alice.

“Thank you,” said Alice, but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go back to it. 

She scampered along the draining board and counter, stopping every few seconds to investigate something new. Mouselet watched her and just hoped she would be back in the cage by the time Stanley got back.

 

 

The front door opened and a bewildered little boy could be heard being ushered upstairs to brush his teeth. “But couldn’t I just see Alice…”

“In a minute!” called back Mrs Hudson.

The front door opened and closed again, and Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner came into the kitchen. Mouselet was once again hiding behind Lestrade. John and Sherlock were still behind the cage. The empty cage.

“I saw you both coming home,” said Mrs Turner. 

“So..?” whispered Mrs Hudson urgently. 

She looked Mrs Turner up and down and her face fell. Her friend was holding her mobile but unless she had the mouse secreted in her cardigan pocket, she didn’t have a replacement for Alice.

“I’m so sorry,” said Mrs Turner. “I went to all the pet shops in a ten mile radius but there wasn’t a mouse that was even a near match. It’s such an unusual shade of brown—one of the assistants said you’d have to try a specialist breeder.”

Mrs Hudson groaned.

“And she’s definitely not back?” said Mrs Turner.

“I didn’t think to check!” Mrs Hudson rushed over to the cage but her shoulders sagged. “No, she’s not back.”

Stanley’s mouse peeped out from behind the bread bin. Mouselet looked over at her. “Alice…”

Alice looked defiantly back at her. “I’ve decided. I’m not going back. It’s my life and I want to stay here.”

Mouselet looked over at the frantic Mrs Hudson. “But Stanley…”

“I’m _not_ going back,” said Alice. 

Mouselet stared at the cage for a moment. And taking a deep breath, stepped out from behind the kettle into plain sight.

“Mouselet!” said Lestrade.

“I know what I’m doing.” 

She scurried towards the cage and Mrs Hudson quickly spotted her. 

“Alice! Oh, thank heavens.”

Mouselet headed right up to the cage and without a pause, she jumped inside. Mrs Hudson swung the door shut and secured it.

“What a relief!” she smiled.

Mrs Turner was beaming in sympathy. “It’s a good thing I didn’t find a replacement after all!”

“No, that would have been hard to explain,” giggled Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Turner handed Mrs Hudson’s phone back to her and they walked together to the kitchen door.

“Well, I’d better be going,” said Mrs Turner. “You’ll want to be reuniting a little boy with his mouse.”

“Hopefully, he’ll never know they were separated,” said Mrs Hudson.

“Yes, of course,” laughed Mrs Turner.

The two neighbours disappeared into the hall.

“Are you sure?”

It was John’s voice behind her. Mouselet turned to look at him. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

Though her legs and heart did feel a bit wobbly.

“There’s still time to change your mind,” said John. “The corkscrew could unhook the cage door.”

Even Sherlock looked concerned. “I have to say, it’s not a situation I would be happy to see a sister of mine in—going off with a stranger.”

John turned to him. “Do you actually have any sisters?”

“Twenty-seven,” said Sherlock. “And nineteen brothers. We were a large batch.” 

They turned back to Mouselet. 

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said, her voice trembling.

But then Stanley came into the kitchen. Mouselet gazed at his face and suddenly she _was_ absolutely sure. There was nothing she wanted more than to be Stanley Hopkins’ mouse. 

The little boy came over to the cage with a big smile on his face, and bent down to speak to the mouse inside. The smile abruptly became a frown. Mouselet’s heart dropped. Of course he wouldn’t be fooled.

“You’re not Alice,” he said. 

Mouselet looked sadly at him and watched as Alice came out from behind the bread bin and came scampering towards them. Naturally Alice would have changed her mind once she saw how unhappy Stanley was. The two of them belonged together. 

Stanley looked up and saw Alice coming towards him and held out his hand to her. But Alice merely pushed her nose against it and then she was away again.

Mouselet watched Stanley’s expression. He looked pensive but perhaps not heartbroken. Stanley turned back to Mouselet and smiled at her, and Mouselet felt just a little hopeful.

“Well, if she wants to stay here and you want to come with me, I suppose that’s all right.” 

He opened the cage. He lifted Mouselet out carefully and held her in one hand while stroking her very gently with the fingers of the other. Mouselet thought that her heart would burst.

“You’re even prettier than Alice,” he declared. He glanced over at Sherlock and his flowers. “I think I’ll call you Violet. That’s Mummy’s favourite flower.”

Mouselet was thrilled. It was a lovely name. And she didn’t mind having two names because one of them would be Stanley’s special name for her.

Mrs Hudson came back into the kitchen then, and got Stanley to put “Alice” back in the cage and wash his hands while she made him some tea. And after it was all eaten, Mouselet in her travelling cage was taken upstairs to spend the night on Stanley’s bedside table.

 

 

It wasn’t a prolonged goodbye the next morning. Stanley’s mother got there early, soon after breakfast, so there wasn’t long for Mouselet to make her farewells. 

She looked around the kitchen and felt a little emotional. Was it only yesterday that she’d slid across that counter and landed in the drawer? Was it only a week ago that she’d nearly drowned in that sink? And there was the cooker that she’d singed her tail on when she’d first moved into the kitchen… Actually, Mouselet didn’t feel that emotional after all. But she was going to miss her friends: Lestrade, John, and even Sherlock.

“It was lovely knowing you,” said John. 

“Oh, don’t get sentimental, John,” said Sherlock. “Obviously Stanley Hopkins will be bringing her back on visits.” 

“Yes, you’ll have to come back and tell us all about what you get up to,” said Lestrade. 

Sherlock turned to Mouselet in her cage. “I was a little worried at first but I have high hopes for Stanley. The two of you will make a good team.”

Mouselet was touched. “Thank you.”

She caught sight of a nose peeking out from behind the bread bin, and Alice came out fully from her hiding place. 

“So, this is it,” said Mouselet.

Alice looked down. “I know I’ve been selfish.” She looked back up at Mouselet. “But I wasn’t the right mouse for Stanley. I need excitement and adventure.”

“I do understand,” said Mouselet. “We all have to find where we belong.”

“Thank you,” said Alice.

“Thank _you,”_ said Mouselet, and she twitched her nose at her. And then Alice had to run and hide because Stanley came into the kitchen to collect his mouse. 

 

 

As Stanley lifted the cage carefully into his arms, Mouselet twitched her nose frantically at everyone, and they all called back good luck messages. 

Mouselet smiled to herself as she was carried out of the kitchen and towards the front door, where Stanley’s mother was waiting outside with the car. Alice might think the adventures of Sherlock and John were exciting, but Mouselet knew that the adventures of Stanley and Mouselet were going to be even better.


End file.
